


Pulp Kirkwall

by cymraeg



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, M/M, Tarantino-esqe swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:07:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cymraeg/pseuds/cymraeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many moons ago on the kinkmeme, there was a request for cracky DA2/Pulp Fiction crossover. These two entries were my contribution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gently, First Enchanter Orsino put an arm around Bethany Hawke’s shoulders and steered her away from the front hall of the Gallows mage tower. “Thank you gentlemen, both, for your consideration,” he said over his shoulder to Sebastian and Fenris. “As for the young man…”

“Fenris and I will be happy to see him to his quarters,” said Sebastian, grasping Alain’s elbow and smiling smoothly. “Won’t we, Fenris?”

Surprised, Fenris nodded agreement, although he’d expected their escort duty to end here. After the altercation on the Wounded Coast, Hawke, looking sick at heart and exhausted, had hugged his sister tightly and then asked Sebastian and Fenris to see her back to the Gallows. Cullen had sent the young mage Alain along with them, and then he and Hawke had begun attending to the business of cleaning up after the failed mage/Templar coup. As they had left the shore, Fenris had looked back to see Hawke rubbing his temples, and his heart ached.

All the way back to the city and then out to the Gallows island, Sebastian had drawn Bethany out with light, cheerful yet sympathetic patter, doing his best to put her at ease and ensure she was calmed down after the experience of being abducted and used as a hostage to keep her brother from involving himself in the investigation of the rogue Templars and mages. But Fenris knew Sebastian well enough by now to know that underneath the gentle and brotherly exterior, Sebastian was seething with anger. And now, as Sebastian nearly jerked Alain along, while the mage stuttered and directed them to his quarters, he suspected he knew who was going to get the brunt of that anger.

They didn’t make it as far as Alain’s quarters; as soon as Sebastian noticed an empty sitting room off the corridor, he shoved Alain inside and said in a tone colder than any Fenris had ever heard, “Lock the door, Fenris.”

“Sit down,” Sebastian ordered the mage. Eyes wide with alarm, Alain dropped into the nearest chair with alacrity. Sebastian studied him.

“So, Alain,” he said softly. “Once more, Hawke’s pity allows you to escape your rightful penance.”

Fidgeting nervously, Alain said “Look, I'm sorry, I-I didn't get your name. I got yours, Messere Fenris, correct? But-But I-I never got your –“

“My name is Sebastian Vael, and your ass isn't talking your way out of this shit.” Fenris jumped a little at the unexpected crudity, but found himself very interested in how this was going to develop.

Alain started to stand up. “No, no, no. I just want you to know how –“ Sebastian motioned sharply and Alain sat back down – “I just want you to know how sorry we are that-that things got so fucked up with us and-and the Champion. I-I-It...we-we got into this thing with the best intentions. Really. I never – “

Sebastian backhanded Alain across the face. Alain mewled.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Did I break your concentration? I didn't mean to do that. Please, continue. You were saying something about ‘best intentions’?”

Alain trembled, seemingly losing his ability to speak.

“What's the matter?” Sebastian bit off. “You were finished? Well, allow me to retort. What does the Champion of Kirkwall look like?”

Confused, Alain stammered, “What?”

Sebastian kicked over the small occasional table next to the chair and said “What country are you from?”

“What?” said Alain again.

"’What’ is no country I’ve ever heard of. Do they speak the common tongue in ‘What’?”

“ _What_?!”

“The. Common. Tongue, whoreson! Do you speak it?!”

“Yes!” Alain screeched.

“Then you know what I'm saying.”

“Yes.”

“Describe what the Champion of Kirkwall looks like.”

“What...?”

Sebastian unlimbered his bow and drew back an arrow, aiming it directly at the mage’s face from less than a foot away. “Say ‘what’ again,” he breathed menacingly. “Say ‘what’ again. I dare you. I double-dare you, pigfucker.” 

Fenris shifted worriedly. He found he really wasn’t particularly concerned about the idea of killing the mage, knowing the boy was probably a maleficar as well as an idiot, but he wasn’t sure the heart of the Gallows was the best place to do it.

Alain whimpered. “He-he's big.”

“Go on.”

“He has a beard.”

“Does he look like a bitch?”

“Wh-what?”

Sebastian released the arrow; it gouged a narrow trench of flesh out of the mage’s shoulder. Alain screamed miserably. “Does he look...like a _bitch_?!”

“No!”

“Then why did you and your cohorts try to fuck him like a bitch, Alain?”

“We didn’t!” Alain sobbed, clutching his bleeding shoulder. Fenris loosened his greatsword, because if the boy really did practice blood magic, now would be the perfect time to do it.

Sebastian snarled, “Yes, you did. Yes, you did, Alain. You tried to fuck him. And the Champion of Kirkwall doesn’t like to be fucked by anybody except Fenris over there.”

“Sebastian!!”

“Do you know the Chant, Alain?”

“Yes!” Alain gasped.

“There is a particular passage in the Canticle of Transfigurations which I believe fits our particular situation, Alain.” Sebastian pulled out another arrow. "'All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands, from the lowest slaves to the highest kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker.'”

Sebastian raised the bow and pulled the arrow back, aiming straight at Alain’s heart.

“'Those who bear false witness and work to deceive others, know this: There is but one Truth. All things are known to our Maker, and HE shall judge their lies!'”

Sebastian loosed the arrow. Alain convulsed once or twice as his body was pinned to the chair.

Fenris realized his jaw was hanging open as he stared at his friend.

Coolly, Sebastian put away his bow, and lifted his hand in benediction. “Ashes we were, and ashes we become. Maker, give this young man a place at your side. Let us find comfort in the peace he has found, in eternity."

“I think we’d better leave through the back, Sebastian,” Fenris said faintly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dead mage storage?

Why Sebastian had thought it was a good idea to haul Alain’s corpse down through the Gallows cellars and through the old mage-escape tunnel beneath was a good question, to Fenris’s mind. 

Why, when emerging from the tunnels, Sebastian thought they would find assistance at _this_ home might be a better one.

The modest little domicile sat in the no-man’s land between Hightown and Lowtown, not close enough to the former to be accused of putting on airs, but far enough from the latter to be removed from the worst of the smut and stink. The outside of the home was neatly kept and a pair of windowboxes full of marigolds decorated the front.

The sitting room was as neat as a pin, a situation which didn’t last as their ungainly burden suddenly sicked up a remarkable quantity of blood all over the floor. The mess and the stink were both unholy.

Sebastian and Fenris sat in the kitchen while their reluctant host, glowering darkly, poured them each a cup of tea.

Sebastian finally cleared his throat and spoke into the uncomfortable silence. 

“Mmm. Andraste’s tits, Donnie. This is some serious gourmet shit. Usually, Fenris and I settle for some second-rate Chantry tea. And he springs this serious gourmet shit on us. What flavor is this?”

“Knock it off, _Sebbie,_ ” snapped Donnic.

Sebastian feigned innocence. “What?”

“I don't need you to tell me how fucking good my tea is, okay? I'm the one who buys it, I know how good it is. When Aveline goes shopping, she buys shit. Me, I buy the gourmet expensive stuff because when I drink it, I want to taste it. But you know what's on my mind right now? It isn’t the tea in my kitchen, it's the dead mage in my sitting room.”

“Oh, Donnic, don't even worry about that.”

Donnic continued, fully embracing the tirade now. Fenris tried to be inconspicuous, no mean feat for a lyrium-etched elf, but the guardman’s attention was fully locked on Sebastian.

“No, I want to ask you a question. When you came dragging in here, did you notice a sign out in front of my house that said ‘Dead Mage Storage’”?

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably; he wasn’t used to being chastised. “Donnic, you know I didn’t see –“

“Did. You. Notice. A sign out in front of my house that said ‘ _Dead Mage Storage’_ "?

“No, I didn't.”

“You know why you didn't see that sign?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not _there,_ because storing dead mages is _not_ my fucking business, that's why!”

Sebastian spread his hands placatingly. “But Donnic, we’re not going to store the motherfucker.”

Donnic jumped up and jabbed an angry finger at Sebastian. “No, no, no, no, no, don't you fucking realize, Chantry boy, that if Aveline comes home and finds a dead body in her house, I'm going to get divorced? All right? No marriage counseling, no trial separation, I'm going to get fucking divorced, okay? And I don't want to get fucking divorced. Now man, you know, fuck, I want to help you, but I don't want to lose my wife doing it, all right?”

“Donnic, Donnic, she’s not gonna leave you.”

“Don't fucking ‘Donnic’ me, Sebastian, okay? Don't fucking ‘Donnic’ me. There's nothing that you're gonna say that's gonna make me forget that I love my wife, is there? Now look, you know, she comes home from work in about an hour and a half. You need to send some messages and round up some help? Well, then do it. And then get the fuck out of my house before she gets here.”

Sebastian sighed. “Hey, calm down, that’s fair. You know, we don't want to fuck your shit up. All we want to do is contact my people and get them to bring us in, that's all.”

Donnic wasn’t mollified. “You don't wanna fuck my shit up? You're fucking up my shit right now. You're gonna fuck my shit up big time if Aveline comes home. So just do me that favor, all right? There are urchins around the corner who will carry messages for two copper. I suggest you get going.”

Fenris slipped away and paid five silver to the longest-legged urchin he could find to carry Sebastian’s hastily-scribbled note to the Hawke manor, where he prayed Hawke had returned by now. Then he went back to the kitchen to wait in uncomfortable,  
glowering silence with Donnic and Sebastian.

Nine minutes and thirty seven seconds later, there came a knock at the back door. Donnic went to answer it. Sebastian and Fenris stared at each other in disbelief as they heard the voice of the visitor.

“You’re Messere Donnic, of course? A pleasure to meet you, ser.”

“Uhh…likewise.”

“My name is Bodahn Feddic. I solve problems. I hear you’ve got one.”

Fenris dropped his head into his hands and groaned as he heard a third, unmistakable voice say one word.

“Enchantment!”


End file.
